


To bed, to bed, to bed!

by Singofsolace



Series: CAOS Shakespeare AU [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Smut, shakespeare au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: 16 Years before the events of "Sir, Spare Your Threats," Zelda Spellman is filming a critical scene in the Scottish Play, under the direction of Mary Wardwell. Though the weather really isn't cooperating, and her brother has a disturbing secret to share, Zelda decides to forget it all in the arms of someone she both desires and trusts.Prequel to my Shakespeare AU (Smut! but also...plot?)





	To bed, to bed, to bed!

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a long time in the making, but I hope the result is worth it! The title is borrowed from Shakespeare's "Macbeth," ("to bed, to bed, to bed!" are Lady M's last words). The monologue, too, belongs to Shakespeare. This was an idea that started as pure smut and grew into something more. Oops. If you just want to read the sexy times, scroll, baby, scroll, to the line break, where it changes to Mary Wardwell's perspective (but it might make more sense if you read the whole thing). Also, I'm neither a historian nor a costumer, so any inaccuracies in costuming are my own. 
> 
> Mary Wardwell has a Scottish accent in this story because Michelle Gomez is Scottish, they are filming The Scottish Play *in* Scotland, and I think it was such a wasted opportunity that they didn't let Michelle keep her accent in CAOS. Hopefully you aren't too distracted by it. I'm one of those silly people who finds pretty much any accent besides my own extremely attractive.
> 
> Slight Content Warning: There is a brief mention that a minor character might have been assaulted (you'll understand when you get there) and Edward Spellman is a pretty big asshole in this piece. 
> 
> Please leave a comment. I'm begging you. I'm very uncertain about my ability to write explicit romance. Let me know if you found this at all sexy or entertaining, and if you'd like some more!

Zelda Spellman was pissed as a wet cat. Mostly because she was, indeed, soaking wet, but also because her brother was being absurd.

Edward Spellman had been acting strangely ever since the birth of his daughter a few short weeks ago. Originally, Zelda had attributed the strangeness to being a new parent—perhaps sleep deprivation had raddled his brain—but Diana seemed to be taking everything in stride. Could it be that Edward hadn’t understood what having a child meant until he held the crying, wrinkled babe in his arms? Or had fatherhood just given him some false sense of superiority over her in her spinsterhood? Bringing a life into the world wasn’t meant to give a man a god complex, but Zelda was starting to think Edward was getting a bit too proud of his ability to create “a miracle,” since, after all, it was_ Diana _who suffered through eighteen hours of labor to bring the child into the world…

Whatever it was, Edward needed to get over it quickly, because Zelda had absolutely no patience for the man when he started directing other actors during not only his scenes, but those without him as well. Why have a director at all if her brother was going to micromanage every acting choice both he and his fellow actors made? She could tell it was getting on Mary Wardwell’s last nerve, too, but Zelda was so cold, she was far beyond caring what either Miss Wardwell or her brother was doing.

“Back tae one,” shouted Mary Wardwell above the rain.

Zelda cursed beneath her breath. How many times would she be expected to “unsex” herself in this howling storm? If they hadn’t gotten usable footage by now, they wouldn’t be getting any at all.

Zelda struggled to stand. Her costume was heavy with the weight of the rain water. Her whole body was shaking with the cold that had settled into her very bones. Why, why, _why _couldn’t they film this scene _inside_ the castle? They went to the trouble of getting permission to film at a positively_ ancient_ location, and yet, all of her scenes so far had been outside, where she was exposed to the elements. She’d be lucky if she didn’t have the flu by the end of the week.

Faustus Blackwood saw Zelda struggling to get up, and moved to help her. He’d been standing by to film the part of the scene that they had together, but so far, they hadn’t made it farther than her monologue.

Zelda accepted his help, but only because she’d lost feeling in her hands and feet. He made sure to grab the dagger out of her hands before he lifted her, though whether it was for his protection or for her own, she couldn’t say.

“This is a bloody mess,” said Faustus, directly into her ear as he steadied her on her feet. It was hard to hear anything through the wind and the rain—Mary Wardwell was using a megaphone in order to communicate, and even then, she was shouting into it—but Faustus was so close she could practically feel his lips against her ear.

“You’re not the one wearing a _fucking _corset,” said Zelda, desperately trying to catch her breath. She could feel the whale bone constricting her ribs. Was Faustus tilting, or was it the ground beneath them…?

Faustus’ eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage at the mention of the corset. _Men_. She would smack him, if she weren’t so sure it would throw off whatever balance she had found.

“Back tae _one,_ Mr. Blackwood,” said Mary Wardwell, impatiently, as the cameras reset.

Zelda could sense Faustus about to say something he would regret, so she distracted him by leaning seductively into his space…or at least, it _would_ have been seductive, if she weren’t shaking with the cold.

“You better do as the lady commands. Your chivalry was noted,” said Zelda, her eyes suddenly finding her brother’s among the crew. He was glaring at them as if they were doing something unseemly in front of the whole production team.

“Killing ‘Duncan’ is getting more and more appealing. I don’t need to be convinced,” muttered Faustus as he let her go, glaring right back at Edward and passing her the dagger as he did. Zelda wanted to respond, but Mary Wardwell was shouting once again.

“Now that Mr. Blackwood is out of the shot, are we ready?”

Zelda Spellman wiped a hand across her brow, uselessly attempting to get the rain out of her eyes. “Ready.”

“Action,” Mary Wardwell called out.

Zelda tried to center herself. She hadn’t spent four years in an acting conservatory, then ten years at the Royal Shakespeare Company, just to let a little freezing rain and wind prevent her from giving the best performance she could.

_Think of flames. Think of hellfire. Think of all things warm and wicked and wild. Think of the womb—now the womb cut out—now the witches and their power…_

And just like that, her body flooded with the proper energy and heat worthy of Lady Macbeth. She was transported to a world where her blood ran so red and hot, it could hardly be contained within her veins. She remembered the dagger, heavy in her hands. She would mutilate herself. She _must_. This was her choice, her legacy, her power in her palm:

_Come, you spirits_

_that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,_

_and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full_

_of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood;_

_stop up the access and passage to remorse,_

_that no compunctious visitings of nature_

_shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between_

_the effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,_

_and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,_

_wherever in your sightless substances_

_you wait on nature's mischief!_

Zelda’s voice was nearly hoarse from shouting above the wind. None of the sound would be useable anyway, so she didn’t know why she even bothered. But the camera would see it all, and if she altered her performance just because she knew she would need to re-record the audio in the studio later, she was certain the critics would come for her.

Zelda’s hands were upraised, as if in prayer, summoning the powers-that-be, before she dropped into the muddy grass. She held the dagger above her head, imagining the way the blade would truly feel buried in her uterus, without the intervention of spirits to lessen the pain.

Zelda had always believed that the text implied only a _metaphorical_ ridding of her womanhood, but Mary Wardwell had explained to her that it was completely possible that Lady Macbeth was _literally _attempting to rid herself of the ability to have children. They had had a passionate debate over it, and in the end, Mary had won, but only because Zelda deferred to the woman’s knowledge as a historian. If it were up to Zelda, she would not be sitting in a gale, ready to plunge a dagger into her lower abdomen, but she had no doubt it was a brilliant shot.

_Come, thick night,_

_and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,_

_that my keen knife see not the wound it makes,_

_nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,_

_to cry 'Hold, hold!'_

Faustus entered the shot just as Mary Wardwell cried, “Cut!”

Zelda nearly cursed the woman out, not because she didn’t respect her, but because this was truly getting ridiculous. If she spent another moment in this storm, the hypothermia was sure to render her useless.

Edward pushed passed Faustus, as if to prevent him from being the one to help her up. Zelda just stared at his outstretched hand, as if it would bite her.

“Zelda, get up,” demanded Edward, one hand on his hat to keep it from flying away.

“Wardwell hasn’t said to go back to one,” Zelda pointed out, her teeth chattering.

“You’ll have to do it again, because the shot still looks terrible,” said Edward, grabbing the knife from her just as Faustus did, before taking her under the elbows.

“Oi,” said Wardwell, suddenly appearing beside Edward. “Keep yer opinions tae yerself.”

Edward scoffed as he hauled Zelda up. It made her extremely dizzy to be so suddenly forced to stand.

“We need tae take a break. All this rain is bad for the equipment,” said Wardwell.

“And for your actors,” said Edward, handing the dagger to a production assistant before taking Zelda by the arm.

Mary Wardwell gave Edward a withering look. “Mr. Spellman, ye weren’t even on the call sheet fer tonight. The fact that yer having tae deal with a little rain is entirely of yer own doing.”

“I’m making sure my sister doesn’t die of exposure.”

“Is _that_ what yer doin’?” mused Wardwell, looking to Zelda with a much softer gaze. “We’re goin’ tae be taking an hour or two tae dry everything off. Hopefully the storm will ease up. I’ll drop by yer trailer in a bit tae talk about the next shot, if that’s alright by ye.”

Zelda nodded. All she wanted was to get out of the rain. But she could do without Edward’s firm hand on her arm, shepherding her to her trailer.

Once she was inside, she expected Edward to leave so that she could get out of her wet clothes, but he did no such thing. The moment the trailer door was closed behind him, he laid into her.

“You need to stop flirting with Faustus.”

“_Excuse_ me?”

“He’s a married man. You should be ashamed of yourself,” said Edward, pacing.

“I’m not _flirting_ with him. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers, and he’s playing my _husband_, for Satan’s sake!” said Zelda, searching for a towel to dry her hair. “And even if I _were_ flirting, it would be none of your business.”

“I’m only looking out for you. The man’s almost as much of a slut as you.”

Zelda looked at her brother with wide eyes, her anger rising. “How dare you?! Where is this _coming _from?”

Edward took off his hat and chucked it into the corner. “Do you really want to be a homewrecker? I hear his wife just had a miscarriage. Are you trying to add a_ mistress_ to her list of woes?”

Zelda threw the towel, which was now soaking wet, at her brother’s head. “I don’t know why you’re being an asshole right now, but I don’t have the energy for this.”

“I want you to be Sabrina’s Night Mother,” said Edward, and though this should have been a happy sentence, he said it with so much vitriol, Zelda was stopped in her tracks on the way to fill her electric kettle with water.

“_What?_”

“If something happens to me, I need to know that you’ll be a good mother to her. Set a good _example_.”

Zelda was shocked into speechlessness.

Edward continued, “Diana was the one to suggest it. I’d rather Hilda be the one to care for her, but my wife is _insisting_ it be you.”

Zelda’s head was reeling as she filled the kettle. “Why would Diana ask for me? We’ve never been very close.”

Edward came up uncomfortably close behind her. Zelda nearly dropped the kettle at his sudden proximity. “What I’m about to tell you, you cannot repeat, do you understand?”

“Edward, you’re scaring me,” said Zelda, and it killed her to admit it, but it was the truth. There was a wildness in his eyes that unnerved her.

“Sabrina is not my daughter.”

Zelda did drop the kettle at that. _“What?”_

Edward towered over her, using his arms to cage her against the counter. “You cannot speak of this. Ever. Do you understand?”

Zelda shoved at Edward’s chest. “Give me some room, will you?”

“No. I need to hear you say it: _I won’t tell anyone_.” Edward’s voice was dark and threatening.

“You’re insane. What do you mean, Sabrina isn’t your daughter? I may not know Diana as well as a sister-in-law should, but I _know _she isn’t the kind of woman to cheat on her husband.”

Zelda tried to move away from Edward, then, but he grabbed her by the shoulders to hold her in place.

“I’m going to tell you who the biological father is, and then we are never going to speak of this again, do you understand?” said Edward, his hands digging into her shoulders.

“Fine, fine. Tell me what you like, and I won’t say a thing, but _get your fucking hands off of me_.”

Edward released her, slowly, but didn’t move away. “She’s Lucifer’s. Lucifer Morningstar is Sabrina’s father.”

Zelda felt her mouth go dry. “You—you can’t mean—_Lucifer_? No. Diana would never—”

“She didn’t.”

Zelda looked at Edward then, horror sinking into her stomach. “Are you saying… Please, Edward, tell me he didn’t…_rape_ her?”

“It’s complicated.”

Zelda felt the room tilt alarmingly. “Edward—I think I’m going to—”

Edward grabbed her then, much more gently this time, and supported most of her weight until she made it to the couch.

Sitting down didn’t make her feel any better, though the dizziness did subside just a bit.

“I’m only telling you so that if something were to happen to us, you will have most of the facts.”

“Most? Not all?” said Zelda breathlessly, desperately wishing she could burn her corset. There wasn’t enough air going into her lungs. She_ needed_ more air.

“Not all,” said Edward. “I didn’t even want to tell you that much. But Diana thought it was right you should know—in case the worst happens.”

“What are you saying?” said Zelda, placing a hand on her chest, as if it would help her breathe. “Is he going to hurt you? Or Diana? Steal the babe? Make trouble?”

“I’m going to handle it,” said Edward. Zelda was shocked by how little she recognized him, with his period clothing and the darkness in his eyes.

“You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?” said Zelda. “Shouldn’t we go to the police?”

Edward leaned over her once again. She was really getting tired of his presence hanging above her head. “I told you, you are never to speak of this again.”

“You can’t just expect me—”

“Zelda, I don’t want things to get ugly between us. You’re still my sister. But you must understand, I will put my wife and daughter before you.”

“Are you threatening me?” said Zelda, panic rising inside her. This was not good, not good at all. She had always known Edward had an edge to him, but this was…something else.

Just then, there was a knock on her trailer door.

“Miss Spellman? May I have a word?”

* * *

Mary Wardwell might have been born in Glasgow, but she would never get used to Scotland’s weather. She had been much happier in the States, with their glorious springs and summers—especially San Francisco, where it didn’t rain her entire time there.

She was impressed by Zelda Spellman’s professionalism. She’d never seen such a committed performance given under such harsh conditions. The footage ought to be unusable, but the camera _loved _Zelda, and just the scene alone was likely to earn the woman an Oscar nomination, if the editing was halfway decent.

And so, Mary Wardwell arrived, script in hand, in front of Lady M’s trailer, having finished discussing the plan for the next couple of shots with the cameramen. The rain had soaked through her jacket and into the blouse and pants beneath. She wished she had thought to change her clothes before coming to speak with Miss Spellman, but what was done was done.

She knocked on the trailer door, expecting to find Zelda alone, but when the door opened, she saw Edward lurking behind her.

“Am I interrupting?” said Mary, curiously, looking between the two Spellmans for some evidence of what was being discussed. Edward appeared angry, but then, he always seemed angry these days. Zelda’s face was still pale and wet from the storm. Mary felt a twinge of guilt about that, but was surprised that the woman hadn’t changed out of her costume yet.

“Not at all,” said Zelda, grabbing Edward by the arm to usher him out. “My brother was just leaving.”

“Indeed,” said Edward, somewhat menacingly, as he brushed passed her and down the steps.

“What was that about?” said Mary, climbing into the trailer as Zelda turned to pick up the electric kettle, which was strangely on the floor.

“Nothing of interest. Would you like some tea?” she said, dumping the water and refilling the kettle before setting it on its heating pad.

“I’d love some,” said Mary, trying not to stare at the way the fabric clung to the woman’s body. “I hate tae sound like a mother hen, but ye really ought tae get out of those wet clothes. I know it’s all my fault, but I’d hate tae have ye catch yer death.”

Zelda turned around, with a delicate eyebrow raised in amusement. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?”

Mary floundered for words, her face flushing scarlet. “I—that’s not what—of course, I would leave while ye—”

Zelda laughed, though the sound seemed a bit forced. “I’m only teasing you, Miss Wardwell.”

“Mary,” she insisted. “I think ye’ve earned the right tae call me Mary after the performance ye gave fer me today.”

“Mary,” Zelda repeated, and oh, her name sounded so much better in Zelda’s mouth. “I wasn’t aware I was doing it for _you_. I thought I was doing it for the film.”

“Semantics,” said Mary, smiling, but the smile quickly slipped off her face as she saw the woman’s body violently shiver. “Ye really need tae get out of that dress.”

“I need to get out of this _corset_,” said Zelda, running her hands over her arms in an attempt at warmth. “But the ties are in the back, and I don’t relish going out into the rain again to ask for a costume assistant to help me.”

“I could help ye.” The words were out of Mary’s mouth before she realized the implications of them.

“I—” said Zelda, looking suddenly nervous. “Well—if you’re sure? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’d be more worried about _ye _being uncomfortable.”

Zelda seemed to think about that for a moment, before she admitted, “I would be grateful for your help. This costume wasn’t designed for moving…or breathing.”

The boiling water was ignored as Zelda slowly moved towards Mary.

“I would apologize, but I had nothing tae do with the costume design,” Mary said, but the truth was, she wouldn’t have apologized even if she had hand-selected the gown herself; Zelda looked entirely too beautiful for her to have regretted playing any part in it.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever helped take off these clothes before,” said Zelda, standing in front of Mary and looking deep into her eyes, “but it is a pretty laborious process.”

“Then we better get started, then,” she said, with more confidence then she felt.

“You can untie the petticoat skirt while I detach the front piece—that’s not what it’s called, but I’m pretty sure someone called it a ‘stomacher,’ and that sounded so unromantic, I’ve since ignored the word completely,” Zelda said, turning so that her back was to Mary. “The ties for the skirt are in the back.”

Mary took a deep breath. She had studied historical fashion and costumes, but it had been a long time since she thought about the specifics of these types of garments. It was likely she’d humiliate herself in front of Zelda, especially because she could already feel her heartrate escalating at the thought that she was actually undressing the woman she had been admiring from afar for as long as she had been interested in Shakespearean Theatre.

The skirt wasn’t terribly difficult to remove, and there were plenty more layers to get through beneath it, but Mary marveled for a moment at how heavy the fabric had become. She hadn’t realized Zelda was not only working through the rain and the wind, but the heavy weight of her costume, as well. No wonder the men had kept offering to help her up. She had thought them ridiculous, marching into the frame between every take, but now it didn’t seem ridiculous at all.

Zelda threw the stomacher onto the coffee table, then proceeded to pull pins out of the gown’s top piece. She crossed her arms beneath the fabric that draped over her shoulders and fell to her waist, and pulled it over her head. Mary marveled at how quickly she did it, and how little she seemed to care for the expensive fabric that she promptly threw on top of the stomacher. Mary was more careful in draping the skirt over the arm of a chair, though she realized the fabric was surely already ruined by the mud and the rain.

“Now the cage.”

Mary just looked at the piece that gave the costume it’s wide silhouette, aghast.

“I think it—” started Zelda, with humor in her tone.

“I see,” said Mary, wanting to prove that she did, in fact, know what she was doing. The cage was subsequently tossed to the floor unceremoniously. Zelda seemed lighter almost immediately.

“Now the corset.”

Mary eyed the many strings, thinking of how long they would take to unravel. Perhaps she should distract Zelda as she did it.

“I know this isn’t my place,” said Mary, as she found the place where the end of the strings had been tucked beneath the corset, “but your brother is getting tae be quite the thorn in my side.”

Zelda sucked in a sharp breath, such that Mary was afraid she had tightened the corset, not loosened it, but no, she could already feel the corset expanding beneath her hands.

“I’d rather not talk about him. In fact, I would much rather talk about _you_.”

Mary’s fingers fumbled for a moment. “Me?”

“Yes. Today’s weather notwithstanding, I really admire what you’re doing with this project.”

Mary felt warmth beginning to pool in her stomach at the praise. “That’s kind of ye tae say.”

“It’s the truth.”

Mary’s fingers became much surer of themselves, now that she had gotten into a rhythm. She could practically feel Zelda’s relief beneath her hands as the corset got looser and looser. It was a heady feeling, to know that Mary was the one producing that effect in Zelda’s body.

“In fact,” Zelda said, but paused when Mary finished the last of the ties, practically moaning in relief as she slipped the corset off and threw it to the floor. The moan had Mary shifting uncomfortably on her feet. She could feel herself becoming far too aroused by this situation, but she didn’t know how to politely leave it, when she had already agreed to do it.

“In fact…?” Mary asked, wanting to stall for time. The next layer was the shift, and she wasn’t entirely sure Zelda needed help taking it off.

“I would love to get to know you _even better_,” Zelda said, her voice deepening as she turned.

Mary wasn’t sure she was reading the situation right. The way Zelda was looking at her was decidedly not as an actress would look at a director she admired. There was heat in her gaze, _desire_, and Mary had no idea how things had shifted from professional to personal so immediately.

“Miss Spellman?”

Zelda stepped closer, right into Mary’s space. She lifted a hand to tug at Mary’s victory rolls, which had been absolutely ruined by the storm, but Zelda didn’t seem to mind.

“Call me Zelda, and please tell me if I’m overstepping, but I’m very, very cold right now…”

It was the truth. Mary could still see the woman’s body practically vibrating as she shivered.

“…and I would be eternally grateful if someone could help me…warm up.”

Mary’s brain well-and-truly short circuited at that. Was this really happening?

Zelda touched Mary’s cheek gently, reverently. “But only if that’s something you want.”

Mary didn’t think she had ever wanted something more in her life. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Zelda said, and the way it lit up the actress’ face with hope and happiness was something Mary would never forget.

_“Yes,”_ Mary repeated, emboldened by Zelda’s clear interest. She placed her hands around the woman’s waist, pulling their bodies so that there was no space between. “There is nothing in the world I want more at this moment than tae…warm ye up.”

Zelda smiled a dazzling smile as she brought her other hand up to cup Mary’s face. “Are you sure? I know this is rather fast…but it isn’t just the hypothermia talking. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

Rather than verbalize another, “Yes,” Mary decided to show Zelda just how enthusiastic she was. She reached up and placed a hand behind the woman’s neck, bringing her face down for a searing kiss.

It was sweet and sensual and everything Mary had ever dreamed it would be. Not that she would admit to having dreams about Zelda Spellman.

“Please,” Zelda said, and Mary was spurred into action. They quickly found themselves on the couch, Zelda laid out beneath her, still in her stays and stockings that were tied at the knee with ribbons. It was the hottest thing Mary had ever seen.

They began kissing again in earnest, Zelda attempting to take off Mary’s jacket with shaking hands.

“Let me take care of ye first,” said Mary, breaking away from the kiss to grab Zelda’s hands. They were blocks of ice. Mary lifted first one hand and then the other to her lips.

“You got to undress me. It’s only fair that I undress _you_,” Zelda pouted, though it turned quickly into a groan when Mary put three of Zelda’s fingers into her mouth. Mary made sure to run her tongue over each finger individually, too, before letting them go with a “pop.”

“I never finished. Ye’re still wearing far too many clothes,” said Mary, running a hand up Zelda’s thigh to take the shift with her. But then her hands brushed silky fabric, which momentarily distracted her. “Those are definitely _not _period appropriate.”

Zelda practically whimpered when Mary ran her fingers over her through the fabric of her lingerie.

“Then you should take them off.”

“As my lady commands,” said Mary, smirking into another kiss before lowering herself to slide the underwear off Zelda’s legs. But then she became distracted by the stockings, too. The ribbons that kept them in place just above the knee made Mary’s mouth go dry.

Slowly, so slowly Zelda would call it torture, Mary pulled on one of the ribbons so that the bow unraveled. Then, she took the fabric of the stocking with both of her hands, and slowly rolled it over Zelda’s knee and down her calf, kissing the skin that was revealed as she went. When she got to the woman’s ankle, she took it in her hands so that she could remove the shoe and stocking at once. She then repeated the action with the other leg, by which time Zelda was squirming in frustration.

“Please,” she said again, and Mary was truly curious as to what exactly Zelda wanted.

“Please, what?” said Mary, tracing patterns over the newly revealed skin, as if she had all the time in the world.

“You know what I want.”

“Do I?” said Mary, moving higher. Her hands now were massaging the woman’s thighs, spreading them achingly slowly.

“Just do it,” Zelda whined, spreading her legs open even wider in invitation.

“Do what?” said Mary, but as she did, she brought her fingers to the woman’s core, tracing everywhere but where Zelda wanted her most.

“Maybe I should go ask someone else to warm me up,” Zelda said in frustration.

That was all it took for Mary to sink her fingers into Zelda’s heat. Two fingers had Zelda sighing in relief. The woman was unbelievably wet, and it sure as hell wasn’t from the rain.

Mary drove Zelda higher and higher, trying to see just what sort of motions made the woman sing. Eventually she took pity on her, writhing as she was, desperate for release, and brushed a thumb over her clit. All it took was one or two circles and Zelda was coming hard all over her fingers. Mary worked her through the orgasm, marveling at how beautiful Zelda looked like this.

Zelda was having trouble catching her breath, even though she had been freed from her corset. Mary wasn’t sure if she should be worried or not, but Zelda soothed her fears with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you. That was incredible.”

Mary crawled up her body to give a quick kiss, before grabbing the bottom of Zelda’s shift, and yanking it up towards the woman’s head.

“What are you doing?” said Zelda, still slightly out of breath.

“I want this off,” Mary said, helping Zelda lift her arms so it would go over her head.

Mary didn’t think she had ever seen anyone so beautiful, but suddenly she could sense a shift in the air. Zelda crossed her arms in front of her chest, as if to hide herself from Mary.

“Are you alright?” Mary said, worried she had done something wrong.

“It’s just… I’m naked.”

Mary had to stop herself from chuckling at that. “Yes.”

“And you’re not.”

Zelda looked briefly at Mary and then away, shivering once again.

“Does that bother ye?” said Mary, curiously, before taking her jacket off in haste.

“No—well, yes—but no.”

Mary started unbuttoning her blouse, but she went slowly, looking at Zelda with concern.

“Do you want to put your shift back on?” said Mary, moving to grab it from where she had thrown it.

“No…no,” said Zelda, trying to sit up without using her hands, since they were still covering her chest, but struggling to engage her abdominal muscles enough to do so.

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked as she finished unbuttoning her blouse, but didn’t move to take it off.

“Nothing,” said Zelda, finally giving up on modesty and moving to help Mary take off her shirt. “Can I help you with that?”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—”

“I_ want_ to,” Zelda insisted, but she still wasn’t meeting Mary’s eyes. “I just want to see you, too.”

“That’s fine,” said Mary, letting Zelda remove her shirt, but then grabbing Zelda’s hands in her own. “But please tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just had a moment of insecurity, okay?” Zelda tried to take her hands back, and Mary let her, though she still wasn’t certain they should continue. “I want to make you feel as great as you made me feel just then.”

“Ye’ve already made me feel better than I’ve felt in years,” said Mary, letting Zelda slip her hands behind her back to unhook her bra. Zelda’s mouth was immediately on her chest, and while Mary was still worried there was something wrong, she didn’t think Zelda was comfortable enough to tell her what it was.

But Mary was easily distracted by Zelda’s mouth on one of her breasts, and her hand on the other. She tried to shimmy her pants down her thighs as Zelda worked, which made Zelda smile as she switched her specific attentions to the opposite breast. Mary was about to try and get her underwear off herself, too, but Zelda moved her mouth down from her chest to her stomach, leaving the skin tingling in her wake.

Without warning, Zelda’s mouth was on her. The fabric of her underwear was already embarrassingly wet, but Zelda didn’t seem to mind. She latched onto it with her teeth, using her fingers to also guide the fabric down her legs.

As soon as the underwear was off, Zelda’s mouth was back on her, building her up into a frenzy. Mary was already close, since she had always been the kind of woman who took as much pleasure in giving as receiving, but when Zelda eventually flicked her tongue just so, and added three fingers into the mix, Mary came harder than she had ever come in her life.

Zelda removed her fingers and brought her mouth back up to Mary’s stomach, placing a final kiss right beneath her belly button. Mary ran her hands through Zelda’s red hair, absent-mindedly trying to untangle the wet knots as she did.

“Was that…good?” Zelda said, and Mary was shocked that she would doubt it.

“Good? Amazing, more like,” said Mary, humming in approval. “Ye’re very good at that.”

Zelda’s chest flushed attractively at the praise. Mary was intrigued by this reaction. Perhaps Zelda Spellman was the kind who needed validation in the bedroom, though Mary had a hard time believing anyone would ever be unsatisfied with a woman like Zelda in their bed.

Just then, Mary’s phone rang. Groaning in frustration, Mary disentangled herself so as to see if it was something important.

“Shite,” said Mary, looking at the time before picking it up. “Got it. Yes. Yes, I know. Yes. We’ll be there right away.”

Mary began to get dressed as she spoke, throwing her clothes on as quickly as possible. Zelda lounged on the couch, looking positively ravished, eyeing her as she hung up the phone.

“The rain’s stopped, the camera is ready, and _ye’re_ still naked,” said Mary, though she really didn’t have any complaints about that last bit.

“And whose fault is that?” said Zelda, stretching her arms over her head, all insecurity gone.

“We need to get you into your next costume.”

“I’d rather stay here with you and claim I’ve come down with something.”

“I’ve already told them we’re coming.”

“Saucy,” said Zelda, winking. “That’s what my sister would say.”

“Ye need tae get dressed.”

“Lucky for me, I have someone to help me do that,” said Zelda, but she made no attempt to move.

“Ye’re going to have to get started. That corset won’t go back on easily.”

Zelda groaned as she stood up, reaching for her shift. “Remind me to never agree to wearing a corset again.”

“If I recall, ye didn’t agree tae it this time, either,” said Mary, her eyes dancing. “They had to twist yer arm and threaten tae fire ye.”

Zelda threw on the shift, then reached for her underwear, before pausing.

“What’s wrong?” said Mary, suddenly nervous once more. “Are ye alright?”

“I’m just thinking,” Zelda said, smirking as she held up her underwear. “You told me these weren’t ‘period appropriate.’”

Mary gulped as Zelda sauntered over to her, looking like the cat who got the cream. “So, I’m surrendering them to you.”

Zelda stuffed them into the pocket of Mary’s jacket, before reaching down to grab her corset.

“Lace me up?”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @greendaleshistorian for the lovely illustration!


End file.
